


Marco Polo

by sagscrib



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa Another Episode: Ultra Despair Girls
Genre: Canon Compliant, Found Family, Gen, but not for long, this takes place in towa lol, when i say major character death i mean it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28543458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagscrib/pseuds/sagscrib
Summary: Towa City was not a forgiving place.
Relationships: Ishimaru Takaaki & Yukimaru Takemichi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Marco Polo

The door creaked as Takemichi shoved it open- not surprising, with how heavy it was, and how crookedly it was hanging on its hinges. He scanned the roof in front of him for Takaaki.

“Marco,” he shouted, kicking the door closed behind him. There was some shuffling a little bit away.

“Takemichi?” Takaaki asked, peeking out from behind a long-broken air conditioner.

“You’re supposed to say ‘polo’, dummy,” Takemichi said as he walked over. He kicked the asphalt next to Takaaki’s leg.

(It was odd. He wouldn’t kick him- medical supplies were always short, and Takaaki perpetually looked like he would shatter at a strong wind- but Takemichi’s kind of affection had always been mostly roughhousing. So he settled for punching at the air next to his arm or stomping just shy of his toes. The sentiment without the physicality- or at least, he hoped.)

“Right,” Takaaki responded, taking the small package of dried fruit handed to him and carefully tearing it open. “I had forgotten. It’s been a long time.”

Takemichi huffed slightly, not missing the far-off look Takaaki got. Childhood always seemed like a touchy subject.

“It’s not a big deal. We’ve kinda had more important things to think about, anyways,” he said, ripping open his own packet with his teeth.

“Regardless, I’ll try and remember in the future,” he said. All business, as usual. Occasionally, when he didn’t have anything else to think about, Takemichi would wonder if he was like that because he was scared of being vulnerable, or if he just didn’t know how to be anything else.

They ate in comfortable silence.

* * *

“Marco,” Takemichi shouted, fighting to be heard against the sound of grinding metal, gunshots, and laughter of the few mechanical bears around them. It left his mouth faster than ‘are you still alive back there, I’m getting worried’, so it was a better bet.

“Polo,” came the stern reply, punctuated by another gunshot. The relief was instant, but, luckily, not enough to distract him from the task at hand. In another few minutes, they had reduced the machines to little more than sparks and scrap metal. Takemichi put his hands on his head and took a moment to catch his breath.

“Are you alright?” Takaaki asked. “Did any of them get you?”

“Nah, I’m fine. You look like you’re about to pass out, though. Do we have any water?”

“Just the emergency supply right now, so-”

“This _is_ an emergency, old man,” he interrupted, swatting at the air near his elbow, then walking behind him and pulling the bottle from the bag on the man’s back. “You’re shaking like hell.”

Reluctantly, Takaaki drank from the bottle that was pressed into his hand, draining about half the bottle. Takemichi frowned.

“We should keep at least that much,” Takaaki argued. Takemichi’s frown deepened, but he begrudgingly put the half-empty bottle back into Takaaki’s pack.

He had gotten into the habit of forcing Takaaki to take care of himself, even if it was at the expense of their resources. It was probably going to take a while to break him of his self-sacrificial habits, but he’d do it. He could empathize- he had been that way for a long time, before the Oowadas got to him.

Takaaki probably didn’t have any Oowadas, Takemichi realized. It was hard to imagine. Then again, _he_ didn’t have a Kiyotaka, and they have different strengths, didn’t they? The Oowadas taught Takemichi how and when to stand up for himself, be selfish, defend the things he was willing to fight for. And Kiyotaka must have taught Takaaki… something.

Among all of the wild, incomprehensible, beautiful things that love were, _strange_ was the most prominent.

* * *

The crunch of shoes on gravel gave away Takaaki’s location long before his hesitant “marco”.

“Polo,” Takemichi tossed over his shoulder with a tired smile, looking away from the fire for what was probably the first time in the last 10 minutes. He didn’t comment on how Takaaki didn’t need to say it when the two of them could see each other. He hadn’t had this since Daiya died- these affectionate rituals, little things done just because. God knows none of his guardians would have indulged him.

Takaaki was a good dad. In an ideal world, Takemichi would have liked being his son, he thinks.

Not like he would ever voice that. Even if he wanted to.

“Everything look good out there?” He asked instead, stretching.

“Yes,” Takaaki responded tiredly, sitting heavily against the crumbling wall. Takemichi sighed.

“Get to sleep,” he said, standing up. “I’ll take the rest of the watch.”

“My shift isn’t over,” Takaaki said, blinking slowly.

“Didn’t ask,” Takemichi said, shrugging on his jacket. “I’ll wake you up early. Try not to roll onto the fire.”

As he stepped away from the fire and into the cool night, armed with the bat he had found some time ago, he considered that maybe the Oowadas hadn’t fully broken him of his self-sacrificial habits. They just hadn’t had enough time, he guessed.

The cold wind bit into him. He shivered.

* * *

They were surrounded, but it wasn’t the worst they had seen. Maybe 5 or 6 bears, at most. Not the worst they had seen by _far_.

Takemichi had managed to knock one of their heads clean off, leaving only a mess of wires and gears before the body hit the asphalt.

“Marco,” he shouted, swinging his bat at a clawed arm. There was no response. No gunshots, either.

He could feel his insides turning to rust. “Marco,” he repeated, louder, more panicked. He just hadn’t heard him, or was focused on reloading. The last bear fell, and Takemichi could feel his arms shaking.

If he were smarter, he wouldn’t have turned around. He would have walked, an Orpheus, believing Takaaki was behind him, fooled himself into believing he wasn’t alone again.

He turned around.

God, he hadn’t seen a body that mangled since Daiya. Unlike then, though, he was screaming.

He couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. It felt like everything was melting. The feeling was knives and too familiar to be comfortable. How many times would he have to feel this crushing loneliness, this unconquerable hurt? How many times would he have to lose a family?

His throat was raw as he sobbed, falling to his knees, gasping for breath. Even if he was able to find a place in this hell hole to bury him, he doubted he’d be able to carry his broken body far.

Trembling, he undid the knot of the tie around what used to be his neck and clenched the fabric in his hands, knuckles white.

“I’m gonna give you a memorial, ok?” His voice sounded quiet and foreign in his ears. “Good one. Fancy. I’m gonna-” he took a deep breath- “gonna find those fuckin’ kids and make ‘em pay, I swear.”

He stood and wrapped the tie around his arm, then turned away, wiping his eyes. If he looked at him for another second, he’d probably never look away- just wither there, knowing he’d have nothing left to live for, anyway.

As it was, though, he would continue, walking until the crushing hurt caught up to him.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this a long time ago and realized i never posted it? what the hell  
> anyways. happy new year


End file.
